


teach me to walk away

by kissaroo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break the Cutie, M/M, Pining, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love, parian lavellan is a crybaby who needs to go to therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissaroo/pseuds/kissaroo
Summary: All Blackwall wants is to protect Parian, and he can't even seem to do that.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Original Male Character(s), Blackwall/Male Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Blackwall/Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan (Dragon Age)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	teach me to walk away

**Author's Note:**

> i did not appreciate blackwall enough the first time i played this game.

The first time it happened, Blackwall was certain he misread the signs.

The Inquisitor couldn’t possibly want _him._ But Parian kept looking up at him with those big amber eyes, getting close and touching his arm, and Blackwall knew that he shouldn’t but...he did.

Parian manages to hold it together after Haven, but Blackwall knows the reason the elf comes to him at night in the barn at Skyhold is to let go, to forget for a while. Blackwall didn’t claim to be experienced in how exactly it would work with two men, but he also never claimed to be uninterested. Parian seems to know what he’s doing, though, and Blackwall doesn’t pry.

In fact, he can hardly say anything at all when he’s in awe staring at Parian under him in the moonlight. His pale skin looks blue, his blond hair white. And the tattoos- the _vallaslin,_ he remembers, stretch down onto the tops of his shoulders and the flat planes of his back. Blackwall sometimes shivers when he realizes he might be the only one in Skyhold who knows exactly what Parian looks like without robes on.

Blackwall was also surprised to learn that Parian liked it rough- it was quite the juxtaposition to his gentle demeanor in all other aspects. Parian Lavellan would run around all day in the cold and mud just to appease one farmer that probably would have spit on the elf in any other circumstance, would softly stutter suggestions to his own soldiers, and then asked to be choked and manhandled in bed. Blackwall was hesitant to oblige. He just could not bring himself to hurt Parian, even though the elf would always ask for it harder. Blackwall was scared to leave bruises. Though they would be easy to explain away to anyone else, Blackwall would know he put them there. He couldn’t ruin Parian like that- not the one good thing left in this fucking world.

\--

It’s somewhere days into the Exalted Plains when Blackwall realizes he might love Parian.

The wind is tousling his short blond waves as he kneels down to pick a plant. But he stops when he sees something on it, his slender hand hovering just above. Blackwall looks a bit closer and notices a little bug nibbling away at one of the leaves. Parian hugs his knees, giving a quiet little smile at the bug, and watches it for a bit. For a few seconds, it’s just him and the grass and the wind. Then he stands up, leaving the plant and its insect, and rejoins the group, flashing Blackwall a big smile.

Blackwall catches himself smiling back, and his heart aches.

\--

It hurts deep inside Blackwall’s chest to see Parian at the Winter Palace. He’s trying to smile, to be friendly and kind like always, but he’s an elf in an Orlesian palace. Blackwall curls his hand into a fist so tight it hurts when a woman in a green velvet dress calls Parian a rabbit to his face- and it hurts even more when nothing but a mildly confused smile passes on the Inquisitor’s face. He doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t know. How could he, he’s spent his entire life apart from these last few months in the wilderness of the Free Marches with only his clan for company.

It’s too much, too many people. Blackwall knows it certainly is for him- that’s why he sequesters himself in the guest wing, far away from the whispering clusters of guests. He’s staring at the golden statues, feeling sick with himself, when Parian appears at his side. There’s something about him that just instantly melts a part of Blackwall, makes him softer somehow. And now that he sees Parian’s eyelashes are wet from poorly kept back tears, Blackwall wants nothing more than to just take him away from here- not just from the palace, from everything.

“I don’t- I don’t think I’m doing very well.”

Blackwall does his best to assure him it’s alright, it’s going to be alright, but he knows he doesn’t have the gift for words. A distraction works better, which is why he follows Parian to the library, fucks him hard and fast against one of the long desks in between the towering bookshelves.

It’s quiet enough that Blackwall can hear Parian’s soft moans echoing, which briefly grants him moments of clarity where he worries someone will find them. That would truly put the Inquisitor at a disadvantage, if someone where to find out Parian Lavellan was being fucked by…

Blackwall is more than a little disgusted with himself when that’s the thought that makes him cum.

\--

After a few more weeks, it’s still a secret (technically, although Blackwall would bet coin Leliana knows something.)

Sometimes they meet in Parian’s quarters, and that’s risky, but there are some days after long expeditions Parian just wants to curl up on his floor under the blanket. Parian prefers the floor- he’s always said it reminds him more of how things used to be, sleeping on hard packed dirt under the stars.

That’s why Parian likes it best when they’re camping. He shows up at the flap of Blackwall’s tent in the dead of night without a word, then crawls on top of him. Blackwall holds tightly to Parian’s thin waist, watching the elf ride him through half-lidded eyes. He’s never held too much stock in his own appearance, can’t see at all what Parian sees in him, but Blackwall knows on the nights he gets to spend with the Inquisitor is he the luckiest man alive. Parian is _beautiful,_ even in the barely lit tent. Blackwall can see the slight flush of exertion across Parian’s face and chest, loves it when he can run a hand through slightly damp hair when Parian finally slumps forward in exhaustion and just lets Blackwall hold him and fuck him.

Parian stays most nights, if only for a little while before the sun rises. Blackwall doesn’t know exactly what they are, lacks the vocabulary to define their relationship accurately, but Parian does lay his head down on his chest and lets Blackwall stroke his hair. The elf doesn’t say much, and never has during their trysts, but that works just fine for Blackwall. Parian spends all day talking to strangers and explaining himself, trying to be a leader when really Blackwall can sometimes see the fear and anxiety just behind his eyes while he’s giving a speech. If Parian wants to speak in the dark of their tent, he can. Otherwise, Blackwall is more than happy to just hold him.

\--

_And you are_ nothing _like a Gray Warden._

Those rumbling words are still echoing in his head, and Blackwall swears he can still feel the cool sickly mist of the Fade clinging to him.

He knows Parian feels the same- he's been staring off into space more, seeming distracted from even everyday things like eating. Blackwall still remembers what the demon said to their Inquisitor.

_All that magic you're throwing around...try not to heal someone again, they might get hurt._

It all comes to a head when they're fighting Red Templars on the coast, being misted by sea spray. Blackwall's footing is steady even on the wet pebble beach, but he almost slides when a shard of red lyrium serving as an arm collides hard with his shield. He grits his teeth and accepts the blow, but he can't take many more of those.

Before he knows it, the air is charged with static and the smell of a thunderstorm, and the creature before him explodes in a splatter of gore and chunks, blue electricity crackling all around it. Blackwall pauses, not able to wipe the blood off his face right away. Several feet away he sees Parian, eyes wide and mouth a hard startled line. His right hand is raised, still sparking from the spell, the other white-knuckles his staff.

Later, after Blackwall has washed the blood off of himself in a stream near their camp and Parian comes to visit him in his tent, Blackwall notices Parian is shaking. He takes the mage's uncalloused hand in his own rough ones.

"Are you alright?"

"I left him."

Blackwall is surprised by how quickly Parian responds, but doesn't say anything, waiting for more. Parian is looking somewhere over Blackwall's shoulder.

"I told Alistair to stay, and he did. And now he's dead." Parian's voice is trembling now- the tears are about to start. The Inquisitor never has been good at keeping them back. "I killed him. I keep hurting people- getting them killed. I don't want this. I don't want to do this anymore."

Blackwall's heart twists, and he squeezes Parian's hand. For the second time, he considers just taking him away from all this. He could run away again- to where, he didn't know. That didn't seem important.

"It's not-" Blackwall starts to say "your fault", but Parian can see through that.

The tears are pouring now, and Parian's usually soft Dalish lilt reaches a higher, panicked pitch.

"It is! It is my fault! I _hurt_ people, and I can't help! I tried to be a healer, and I killed someone. That was before I even went to the Conclave. My clan was afraid of me.”

It’s times like this when Blackwall wishes more than anything he could ever have the right words. His brain takes too long to catch up with his mouth, and he ends up just sitting in silence for several moments. Parian’s shoulders shake, and he pulls his hand free of Blackwall’s. His eyes dart around Blackwall’s face, searching for anything at all, but Blackwall’s sure he’s only seeing pain. Without another word, the elf exits Blackwall’s tent. For his part, all Blackwall can do is put his face in his hands.

\--

It’s been a month.

Parian doesn’t come to see him anymore, and when Blackwall is called to go on expeditions, he can hear the note of reluctance in the elf’s voice. He wasn’t sure at first that their...relationship had ended, but after that night in the tent, Parian could hardly even look at him. Maybe partially out of embarrassment, but in the back of Blackwall’s mind he always knew it was only a matter of time before Parian realized he wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t give Parian what he wanted.

But here he is anyway, trudging along behind the Inquisitor, The Iron Bull, and Sera through a forest of too-tall, too-green trees. He keeps to the back now, citing that he is the only one wearing heavy metal plates if anyone questions him. Really, it’s because he doesn’t want Parian to have to look at him.

Sera’s good for conversation. She’s just told a raunchy joke that drags a chuckle out of him- but the laugh dies in his throat when he sees Bull’s hand squeeze Parian’s shoulder. Parian’s head turns, and he’s smiling, with a blush coloring his pale face.

Blackwall’s heart just about drops into his stomach then.

Sera keeps chatting away, and that’s fine, because Blackwall can’t bear to try to explain what’s happening to him right now. He always assumed Parian would find someone else, someone better, but...not Bull.

It has to just be sex. It _has_ to be, because Bull _oozes_ it, always has some sort of innuendo or heated banter to catch someone off guard. And Blackwall knows how Parian likes it, so Bull makes sense for that. It still stings, but Blackwall can live with it, he decides.

Sera eventually catches on, and ribs both Bull and Parian for it. She’s playful, so they’re playful back. At least Bull is. He deflects just enough to save _some_ of Parian’s modesty, and Parian’s face has never been redder. But he looks happy. And that unclenches Blackwall’s jaw somewhat.

Once they camp, Blackwall excuses himself to his tent as quickly as possible. Parian looks at the ground when he does, the cheerful glow from earlier in the day fading quickly. Bull watches him go, his one eye completely impassive. Blackwall removes each piece of armor carefully, setting them aside one by one. He stares a little too hard at the Warden crest on his breastplate for good measure.

He wonders if Parian is in Bull’s tent right now. He wonders about...the size. Parian seemed to take Blackwall well enough, but Bull was an entirely different beast. That couldn’t have been the reason, could it? Blackwall’s thoughts are swimming, disconnected as he starts to fall into a fitful sleep, but one thought wakes him up.

Does Iron Bull love Parian like he does?

\--

He does.

Blackwall can see it in the way Bull will shift his entire position to block a blow meant for Parian, the way even his enormous hands are so tender when he’s near him. That’s good, because Parian’s delicate, no matter how hard he asks for it. (Blackwall is certain Bull knows about that as well.)

Parian’s eyes follow Bull, too. Sometimes wide-eyed and worried when a nasty cut sends the Qunari’s blood splashing across the grass, sometimes half-lidded with lust when he thinks Blackwall can’t see him staring at Bull’s back muscles. Blackwall doesn’t think Parian ever looked at him like that. Maybe that’s for the best.

The Inquisitor shouldn’t be sleeping with a liar, much less loving one. But Blackwall still loves him, even though Parian has moved on, and Blackwall will keep trying to help him.

Sometimes, Blackwall knows, the best thing you can do for someone you love is to leave.


End file.
